


Down Days

by eyemeohmy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Squick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaon's not sick. Really. It's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Days

**Author's Note:**

> megrimlockking13 gave me a tarn/kaon prompt—basically, sickfic with h/c. warnings for squick (vomiting) and sadistic monsters being fluffy with one another; it’s not very slashy, tbh, but there’s a little romantic tidbit. takes place shortly after issue #21.

Kaon winced, touching his head. The throb behind his right temple mimicked the pulses of his spark, heavy and thumping. He attempted to hide his grimace, focus on his work at the communications’ station.

"Kaon."

Oh, good. Kaon raised his head; that only made the slowly growing migraine worse, but he concealed his pain fairly well. It caught him off guard, that was all. Kaon turned, facing Tarn in the command chair in the center of the bridge. Vos looked up from the helm controls, white light splashing across his face from various screens.

"Is everything alright?" Tarn asked, and he almost looked like a king on his throne.

Kaon smiled pleasantly. “Ah, yes. I’m sorry,” he chuckled, tapping a finger very lightly against his crest. “Just recalibrating from the system flush, that’s all.” No, not really, because that aching throb was only increasing.

"Should you be working so soon given the circumstances?"

Kaon wrinkled his nose, chanced a quick look at Vos. Vos, who gave him a disapproving glower; he’d been the one to preform the system flush on Kaon, like Hell he messed it up. “It takes a few minutes for things to settle,” Kaon insisted. “I’m fine, Tarn, really.” And he flashed that convincing sweet smile again, one that seemed to fool the DJD commander.

Tarn stared at him a moment; nodded once, then went back to studying the viewscreen.

Kaon exvented quietly, turned back to his station. The pain was actually receding now… Only for it to burst forth like a forceful tidal wave through his neuro-circuits. ”Nn!” Kaon gasped, falling to one knee; he grabbed at the keyboard to stop himself from collapsing. Pressed his forehead into his hand, as if applying pressure would lessen the pain.

In the dull blur of noise, he heard what sounded like two small footfalls before: “Vos. Keep your position.”

No, dammit. Kaon didn’t want to look weak before his esteemed leader; didn’t want to let his little brush with death keep him from doing his job. But before he could shakily push himself back onto his feet, Tarn’s large hand was curled gently around the edge of his shoulder.

Dammitdammitdammit.

"Kaon."

"It’s n-nothing," Kaon insisted, internally cursing himself for stuttering. "I’m fine. I can do my work. I think I’m getting closer to Overlord’s signal. It’s—"

“ _Kaon_.”

Kaon winced; Tarn didn’t even need to use his special voice modulator to send a shiver through his spark. Kaon reluctantly allowed Tarn to help him up, free hand taking him by an arm.

"You need to rest," Tarn insisted.

Kaon was almost standing. “No, it’s—” But the moment his backstrut went straight, something thundered from his head, down his chassis, and it was such a shock to his system— Kaon gagged in an instinctive attempt to stop himself, but too weak, he fell forward, purging fresh energon strung with thin ribbons of crude black oil. It splashed across Tarn’s chest, and Kaon almost wheezed on his fervent attempt to apologize while gasping in air to cool his whirring fans.

Tarn glanced down at the mess on his torso.

Kaon’s optic sockets widened, and pure fear crossed his faceplates. “Tarn, I’m sor—I’m sorry,” he croaked, wincing at the taste of bitter, half-processed fuel burning along the back of his throat, the roof of his mouth. He reached out his hands, as if to clean it off, only to stop; his hands remained hovering nervously and helplessly over the vomit. “I’m so sorry, sir, please—”

"Vos," Tarn interrupted, turning his head to face the gunformer. Vos stood from his chair, debating getting help, or getting a mop. "Comm Tesarus," Tarn ordered. "Tell him to come clean up this mess." And the giant lug might hate him for it later, but he certainly would not complain.

Vos nodded curtly and went back to his controls, opening a transmission.

Kaon swallowed, mouth hanging open. He felt too hot. “No, let me—”

Kaon flinched. He was helpless, really, as Tarn forcefully—but still carefully—walked him out of the bridge. One giant arm was slung across his back and shoulders, keeping him upright. Though Kaon could barely lift his head. He scowled to himself at the way Tarn had to just slightly bend forward in order to properly keep his arm in place along the shorter officer’s back. Not by much, but Kaon still felt guilty.

Kaon’s gaze fell to the purged fluids still on Tarn’s chest. “Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll—I’ll get back to work,” he murmured, half-helped around the corner and to his room.

Tarn did not answer. He wasn’t a very hard mech to read, despite the mask. His optics were expressive enough. Right now he looked annoyed; Kaon didn’t blame him. But he also refused to register that intense glow as concern. Tarn punched the password into the panel to Kaon’s room, guiding his teammate inside.

The sparkeater lifted its head, lying beneath the window. It watched as its master was carried to his berth, carefully laid down. With a small whine, it gathered to its feet, little beads of coolant dripping from its disjointed jowls.

"You’re to be confined to your quarters for bed rest for the next 22 hours," Tarn stated in that no-nonsense tone. The one you dare not try and argue with. But to drive things home: "That’s an _order_.”

Kaon wasn’t going to protest, no, but… “A-At least,” he said, hurriedly continuing before Tarn could leave, “at least let me…” He grunted as he sat up, a large hand pressed to his back for stability. Kaon sheepishly nodded to his vomit on Tarn. “At least let me… clean that up.”

Tarn remained silent, looking Kaon over. Kaon felt tense, giving his best pleading expression. The sparkeater rested its head on the edge of the berth, snuffling.  


A moment later, Tarn stood; he crossed the room, picking out a few things from Kaon’s private washracks. He turned—rag in one hand, cleaning solvent in the other. Kaon slowly smiled, one corner twitching.

Tarn sat on the bed, turned to face his partner. Kaon took the rag and solution; poured some of the cleaning mixture on the cloth before leaning forward, just a little, to carefully wipe the vomit off powerful, expansive chest armor. Fortunately it wasn’t much of a mess; very little of the purged fluids had seeped into nearby seams, making it easier to clean them out.

There was only the soft hum of their internal machinery filling the room. Kaon wasn’t bothered, however; he enjoyed the quiet mechanics, the almost inaudible vibrations.

The sparkeater sat, back foot scratching away rust from behind its pointed ear, its irritable gurgle interrupting the silence.

"I am really sorry," Kaon apologized again. The rag swept through the last seam. There; all finished. He went to sit back—fingers curled around the edge of his chin, and Kaon immediately went still, spark skipping a pulse. He went to ask what the problem was, but Tarn cautiously tilted his head back, until they met gazes.

That intense glow softened, just a little. That was a good sign. Tarn took the cloth from Kaon’s hand, using one clean edge to wipe the crusted vomit from the corners of his teammate’s mouth. Kaon settled, relaxing instantly; he smiled when Tarn was finished.

"Thank you, Tarn."

The DJD commander nodded. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to Kaon’s in an intimate caress. Kaon purred quietly, nuzzling back.

Tarn stood a minute later, putting the solvent back, rag tossed into waste receptacle. He stopped at the doorway, glanced back at Kaon. The smaller Decepticon had stretched out on the berth, plugging himself in for proper recharge.

Tarn left, door closing, and Kaon sighed, both relieved and happy.

**Author's Note:**

> also, as we know, the djd are like a big family, but they all fear tarn a little. so it makes sense kaon, still sick and not thinking clearly and whatnot, would get a bit nervous for hurling on tarn lol


End file.
